


where hearts ever burn

by SyntheticRevenge



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Multi, Necromancy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, Unrequited Crush, What do people even tag things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyntheticRevenge/pseuds/SyntheticRevenge
Summary: Moments from the months between the island and the Civility.
Relationships: Gable & Jonnit Kessler & Travis Matagot & Dref Wormwood, Gable/Dref Wormwood, Gable/Travis Matagot, Gable/Travis Matagot/Dref Wormwood, Orimar Vale/Dref Wormwood, Travis Matagot/Dref Wormwood
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	where hearts ever burn

**Author's Note:**

> Two Skyjacks fics in two days!! Because when I get back into something I get back into it with a fucking vengeance. Anyway, I'm excited about this one, I've always wanted to write pre-canon stuff and I have a lot of ideas! Hope you enjoy <3
> 
> CW: general captain maintenance, being kissed by a corpse

Dref coaxes the needle into the unfortunately-textured flesh of the captain’s jaw and pulls hard, thread whipping through. It’s been a week since Orimar died, and the man’s already doing them the discourtesy of falling apart. Just as he was in life: not taking care of himself in the slightest.

Dref couldn’t count the number of times he’d sat in this room with a needle in the captain’s flesh, stitching him back together. Part of him was always surprised the man was made of the same stuff everyone else was. He always half-expected to hit metal or stone. Orimar seemed indestructible or untouchable, even when he was wounded.

Dref goes in for another stitch, and Orimar slowly, idly, lifts a hand. Dref glances at the hand and notes it, but thinks nothing of it. The death was recent enough that there could still be traces of Orimar left in his body, small memories of motions he’s compelled to act out for one reason or another. Like a freshly-dead man twitching when you poke his brain. Orimar had let Dref do that, once, and Dref had vomited overboard for ten minutes after, but it  _ had _ been fascinating.

He still remembers the first time Orimar ever came to him for help. Dref was sixteen and new to the Uhuru, staying in his quarters, afraid to attempt to speak to anyone on the crew. He was so anxious he couldn’t even begin to stutter a single word when Spit had first introduced himself, more kindly and gently than anyone in Dref’s family had ever spoken to him.

But--he’d been alone, with more or less nothing to do but read, which he was alright with, and then Orimar had come crashing in without knocking, bleeding profusely from his side. He had a  _ presence _ , a burning intensity. He was a living, breathing force of nature, and Dref couldn’t help but gasp a bit. They’d met before, obviously, but Dref’s mind had been--elsewhere, and--

Orimar had just sat down, breathing heavily, and Dref swallowed down bile and rushed for the tools he needed to try and put him back together. They’d spent those long moments in silence, until Dref finished his work and went to wash the blood off his hands before the smell could get to him anymore, and Orimar had said a single, heartfelt, gravel-voiced  _ thank you _ , and Dref’s heart fluttered.

They never spoke much, but it became clear over the months, and eventually, improbably, years that Orimar trusted Dref. Sometimes, when Dref tended to him, Orimar would talk aimlessly about issues among the crew and concerns about their stores and, on occasion, if he was particularly drunk or lovestruck (which happened quite a bit, Orimar Vale seemed to fall in love with someone in every new port, which Dref always found to be a wonder), about his decades of adventures. 

Dref’s feelings for the captain were a scientific discovery about himself and nothing more. He was too young, and Orimar was a marvelous beast of a man, and nothing could ever come of it. So Dref kept silent and listened and worked, and Orimar always thanked him genuinely for it.

He ties off the stitches in Orimar’s jaw, and as he drops his hands and starts to step back to evaluate his work, Orimar raises his own hand a bit further out and slowly, stiffly extends it towards Dref’s face. Dref blinks in alarm, stepping back, and the hand stops, just hanging there in the air, dead muscles straining to hold it up.

“What do you, ah, what d-d-do you want?” Dref asks, cautiously, as if the captain can speak to answer him. He’s met with silence, but as he searches Orimar’s face, he sees something behind the eyes he didn’t quite notice before, something sparkling and familiar.

He steps closer again, where he was before, and Orimar resumes his slow, lurching motion. He puts his thumb on the corner of Dref’s bottom lip, and Dref freezes, breath hitching and stopping entirely. His mind is a blur of panic, as if Orimar’s moving fast enough or with enough strength to hurt him--he knows he shouldn’t be scared, but the guilt for what he did--what he let Travis convince him to do--it hangs thick and heavy in his chest, and he feels sick.

Instead of a violent motion, Orimar just slowly, numbly, and roughly drags his thumb across Dref’s lip, nail accidentally digging in and stinging him with pain. 

“W-what do you want,” Dref breathes again, softly, still struggling with the fear squeezing at his heart.

Orimar pulls Dref’s lip, and he swallows hard. Thinks about how under other circumstances this could be a fantasy.

“Do you want me to t—to t-talk?” Dref asks, thinking about how Orimar used to talk to him. “I don’t, ah, I’m n-not good at that. N-n-not like you, ah, like you were.”

Orimar just pulls at his lip again, and Dref raises and drops his hands desperately. 

“I don’t—“ Dref sighs, pulling his chair close and sitting down across from Orimar, their knees brushing. “I’m sorry, c-c-c—“ He can’t finish the word  _ captain _ , chokes on the hollow term of respect for a dead man he loved, let die, and desecrated. “I’m so sorry.”

Orimar leans close, joints audibly creaking. Dref’s going to have to figure that one out, there must be  _ some _ fluid that will make that sound stop, it’s just a matter of what and where to put it, and he’s trying to work those questions out when Orimar roughly, forcefully kisses him. 

Dref jerks back immediately, gasping. “Stop,” he manages, forcefully, and Orimar nods, slowly, and leans back, resuming his stiff, lifeless pose. Whatever animated him seems dormant again, and Dref finds he can’t breathe, frightened by everything about the situation. 

He’s heard the theories about necromancers and the things they bring back, that devotion, that love. When you give something its life back, it gravitates to you, weighted down with misplaced gratitude. It makes Dref feel sick. 

“D-d-don’t d-do that again, ah, p- _ please _ ,” Dref says. Orimar remains lifeless and unmoving. “It’s n-n-n-not, it’s—you don’t owe me, ah, you don’t owe me anything, and especially not  _ that _ .”

Orimar stays still, and Dref starts to wonder if he imagined all of the movement. If he imagined all that, if it was just his guilt hanging heavy on his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “You were, ah, uh, you were amazing. Th-th-this is...I’m sorry.”

He jolts and yelps as the door to his quarters slams open, and he quickly, impulsively wills the captain back into his roughly animated routine as Travis barges in. 

“Who were you talking to?” Travis asks, squinting and slamming the door behind him, bottle of horrible grog dangling from his hand. 

Dref sighs in relief and drops the magic, Orimar falling still. “You should, ah, you should  _ k-knock. _ ”

“I heard your voice, I thought there might be something juicy going on,” Travis says, shrugging. 

“Please g- _ go _ .” Dref points at the door, and Travis puts his hands up.

“You’re such a boring co-conspirator,” he whines, heading back out.

Dref sags like the captain, leaning his head into his hands and pushing his glasses up, sighing. 

“We’ll, ah, we’ll find a way t-t-to—to let you go. Soon. I p—I promise.”

The captain nods, slowly, and then goes still again, in what feels like finality.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All feedback is appreciated <3  
> Find me on tumblr @witnesstotheend


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